Shattered Mirrors
by Volchitza
Summary: High school is all about new beginnings, and that's just what senior Narita Kazue gets when the infamous Niou Masaharu shows up at Nagoya Seitoku. But these two people are more damaged than the world can see, and falling in love might be more dangerous and difficult with a boy and a girl who aren't willing to jump. "It was like Niou said. All good things end."
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

Three playing cards slid across the smooth table at lightning speed, a blur of blue on white. They came to a stop seamlessly in a row. Kirihara Akaya contemplated the pile for a second before stabbing a finger down on the card in the middle.

Niou flipped it over. The card depicted a five of spades. "Nice try, kid."

"That's not possible," Kirihara said stubbornly. "There is no queen of hearts." He flipped over the other two cards. "What?" He pressed his nose onto the queen in his right hand.

Niou shook his head, already losing interest.

"Do it again," Kirihara said.

He turned his head when Yagyuu walked by and paused, staring at Niou quizzically. "Oh, you're still here, Niou-kun." Although he phrased this as a statement, Kirihara sensed the question behind it.

"Of course I'm still here, Hiroshi," Niou said, and he met Yagyuu's steady gaze.

"Do Yukimura-kun and Sanada-kun know?"

"Know what?" Kirihara asked.

"They will."

"All right." Turning his eyes away from the game, Yagyuu strode out of the library.

"What was that all about?" Kirihara asked, probing Niou's unreadable expression.

Niou just shook his head and took the three cards in his hand. "Watch carefully," he instructed, "This is the last time."

And Kirihara did.

Without bravado, Niou threw the cards facedown on the table and began to arrange them methodically. Once again, three cards flashed at lightning speed on the table, coming to a stop before Kirihara's narrowed eyes.

"This one," he said, pointing to the card on the right.

Niou smirked slightly and flipped it over.

The queen of hearts stared back at them.

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Niou Masaharu didn't change with the rest of the regulars. "He wasn't in any of his classes, either," Marui Bunta noted. But Niou skipped class all the time, so nobody paid any attention. Only Yagyuu Hiroshi knew the real reason behind Niou's absence, but he kept that fact to himself.<p>

The four regulars—Marui, Jackal, Yagyuu, and Kirihara—finished dressing and filed out of the locker room. Walking away at a slow saunter was the unmistakable form of Niou Masaharu. "Where's he going?" Jackal muttered.

Yukimura looked to Sanada and Sanada to Yanagi. Then, Yanagi sighed and said, "It seems that Niou doesn't attend Rikkai Dai anymore."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Marui demanded after the brief moment of shock they all experienced.

"He's transferred to Nagoya Seitoku."

"But that's in the Toukai Region!"

"Fuck this," Kirihara said. He began to go after Niou.

"Akaya, you can take this up with him after practice," Yukimura said.

Kirihara stopped. "But, 'Mura-buchou—guys!" Kirihara looked at the neutral faces of his teammates. "You can't just let him go!"

Yanagi turned a sharp gaze on Kirihara. "Don't be stupid, Akaya," he said. "It's not our decision."

That was enough to shut Kirihara up for the rest of practice. The regulars minus one member practiced as usual, ran drills and hit volleys and Yagyuu worked on his singles game. When practice ended, Marui dressed quickly and left without a word. Kirihara looked after him, like he wanted to follow, but after a while, his expression set into one of gritty acceptance and he turned up his collar to the wind and jumped on his bike. The rest of the regulars went their usual ways.

Yagyuu ended up walking with Yanagi on their mutual paths to their houses. "You knew, didn't you?" Yanagi said

"I did. But does it matter?"

"I suppose not. Do you also know why he's leaving?"

Yagyuu didn't say anything for a moment. Then, he shook his head. "He will tell us when he wants us to know."

But they both knew what Niou was about—not the boy himself—and they knew that this was an ending. Niou liked to leave things untied and messy. It meant he always had something to go back to.

Yanagi sighed.

Yagyuu and Yanagi parted ways at an intersection. Yagyuu went home and finished his homework early. When he was done, he checked his phone, half expecting a text from Niou. His inbox was empty, of course. With nothing to do and the sky too dark to practice tennis at a nearby court, Yagyuu lay in his bed and traced the cracks on his ceiling with his eyes.

He supposed Marui went to Niou's house after practice and got as detailed of a story as one could from Niou. The next day, life would continue and Marui would share his not-so-half-baked theories on the sudden school transfer—because the magenta-haired youth was as observant as Yanagi when he wanted to be—and soon the school would be filled with rumors of Niou Masaharu's disappearance.

Yagyuu would have to face the brunt of the student body's curiosity. But that wasn't so bad since he didn't actually _know_ anything of concrete value. All he knew for sure was that Niou had left Rikkai, and that meant he either wanted to or didn't care.

Then, because nobody else was in the house, Yagyuu laughed. He could imagine the headlines for this week's newsletter, could imagine the confused faces and the distraught fans. The other boys on the tennis team would begin practicing with renewed vigor, of course, convinced they had a chance of becoming a regular now that Niou Masaharu was gone.

Yagyuu sighed. He didn't missed Niou. And he wouldn't miss Niou. From the very beginning, Yagyuu had known: there was no becoming friends with a switchblade.

The end always came without warning. Saturday night at a café, Niou had told him personally between sips of tea.

"We weren't really friends, were we?" Yagyuu asked.

Niou's expression, straddling the line between mischievous and cold, remained level. His tone came out sarcastic when he said, "All good things end." Yagyuu wasn't sure if this was genuine or mocking. With Niou, you never knew.

"It was nice knowing you, Niou-kun," Yagyuu said and stuck out his hand.

Niou didn't say anything back. He reached over the table and shook Yagyuu's hand, a small gesture of respect. Then, he scooted out of the booth and walked out of the café, quickly getting soaked in the rain. Yagyuu sat there for a while, stirring his warmed-up water. Then, he too left the café, the rain dripping off of the sides of his umbrella.

Genuine or not, it was like Niou said. All good things end.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey, so this is the new prologue to _Janus_. I know it's a bit shorter than usual, and as a warning, most of the chapters are gonna be pretty short (1,000 to 2,000 words). I hope you like it.

Also, I'm thinking of changing the title to _Shattered Mirrors_. Tell me what you guys think. I'll probably give you guys a chapter's notice before I change it officially.


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

Sunlight slashed through her windows, rippling over her covers like a shadow cast over sand dunes. One foot stuck out of the shapeless mound, struggling to play out the dream running through its owner's head. Abruptly, she sat up, the hair on her head sticking up at various angles, and her eyelids shot open. Taking in her surroundings, she relaxed and rolled her neck around. The thought running through her head: _Another day in paradise._

She ran through a mental checklist of what she needed for today. Homework. Check. Textbooks. Check. Binder and notebooks. Check. The thought of school just made Narita want to hold her pillows over her head. She rubbed her thumb over the loose skin beneath her eyes, reminiscing for a brief moment of the stress nightmare she'd had last night, then kicked her feet out of bed.

_Only a couple of months before college,_ she told herself. But was that really better? There was hardly a difference between the fifth and sixth level of hell, probably. Where was the comfort in trading sleepless nights in her house for sleepless nights in a dormitory?

Narita shook her head. _Move. Don't think._ She couldn't ponder the logic of the life she'd chosen, the life she was _choosing _with every chaos-filled night and coffee-shot day. Otherwise, she wasn't positive she could convince herself that this was what she wanted. That a nice house with a stable job was worth all the sleepless nights and stressful days.

She jumped into the shower and turned the water up high. Scalding hot needles pelted down, leaving Narita's skin red and raw. She watched steam rise around her until the little bathroom felt as hot as a sauna, and then she turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself. The character for "perseverance" was written in the middle of her mirror, but she couldn't remember when she'd put it there. Narita retraced it with her finger and began to brush her teeth, looking at her face through the un-misted parts of the mirror.

As she continued, the house came to life around her. Her father rose from his gentle, snoring slumber and went into the bathroom in his room. Then, Hisao woke up downstairs and ran outside to bask in the early January snow. He returned a moment later to ready his self for a day of education. As Kazue Yamamoto finished washing his face, Narita's little sister Sachi woke up and began to cry. Narita heard her dad carry Sachi to the window, pointing out the birds searching the ground for worms, and the baby's wail turned into a giggle. Narita sighed through her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth. She pulled on her school uniform, freshly steamed from the shower she'd taken, and went downstairs.

Last night had dropped two inches of snow on most of the Toukai Region, and this morning, the crisp brightness of winter permeated the air. Despite her exhaustion, Narita began to feel a little better about starting school again. She stuck five pieces of toast in the microwave oven—one for her mother, and two each for her father and brother—and cracked four eggs open over a pan. Then, as breakfast simmered in the kitchen, Narita grabbed an old avocado and half a pack of saltine crackers and sat down for her one-man feast.

"Is that it?" Nariko asked, padding downstairs in a silk, leopard-print nightgown.

Narita nodded, and Nariko merely sighed. Once, Narita threw up on the bus ride of her first day in middle school—that was around the time she began to dread school—and since then, she'd learned her lesson to never eat before the first day of school.

"You're buying lunch from school, right?"

"Yes," Narita replied. She thought, _We'll see_.

Nariko sat down across from her. Narita kept her faced turned toward the window, but out of the corner of her eye, she observed Nariko's face. Her mother always looked like she had something on her mind, something on her shoulders. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a permanent look of concentration and her lips were always pressed together. Narita didn't even think her mother realized how exhausted she looked. Already, she had gray hairs and wrinkles around her eyes and jaw, even though she was rather young compared to the other women she worked with.

Sometimes, in fleeting looks in the mirror, Narita could see a little bit of her mother in herself. In the shadows, when no one was around to see, Narita's shoulders slumped down a little and her eyes lost the hard gleam of concentration they usually carried, replaced with a haunted darkness.

Narita glanced at her wristwatch and dragged herself up. Her stomach gurgled loudly, part hunger and part anxiety. She ignored it and went back to the bathroom, applying a healthy coat of concealer under her eyes and generous doses of mascara on her eyelashes. When she came out, her entire family was downstairs. Narita gathered the toast on one plate and the eggs on another and carried it to the dining table.

"This looks good, Narita," her father rumbled as he spread his toast with some jam.

"Thank you." She took out a jar of baby food for Sachi and deposited it onto a little plate on Sachi's highchair.

"Why do you always leave this early?" Hisao, her little brother, asked between jabs at his egg.

Narita shrugged and put her avocado and saltines back into the refrigerator. Then, she looped one arm through her backpack, the weight of her textbooks making her shoulders slump, and headed out the door. "Bye."

"Bye," her family said in unison.

Narita let the screen door close behind her with a thump and trudged out into the chilly, January morning. _One more term,_ she told herself.

Although the sun was already beginning to melt the snow, Narita knew she was early. And not just first-day-of-school early; her wristwatch told her she was the kind of early that teachers teased and asked to help with set-up. But her stomach still churned with dread, and Narita didn't even want to _look _at the preppy Nagoya Seitoku insignia much less actually go into the building.

She hopped on an empty bus. "You an early bird?" the driver remarked as she took her seat.

Narita sat down in the first seat to decrease the chances of her puking. "Nope, just scared," she admitted. Then, she bit her lip, catching herself before she could elaborate on her nightmares. For some reason, she found it easier to inhibit herself around friends and family than around strangers. Maybe she just didn't care because they would probably never see each other again—and if they did, neither would remember this exchange.

The bus driver took this in, then smiled gently. "Where to?" he said.

"Don't you have a route?" Narita said, wondering why he was being so nice. Her gaze caught on her reflection in the rearview mirror and she realized: trying not to throw up on his bus, the bird-framed girl hunched over herself looked like a china doll about to break. She frowned and the doll's lips curled down as well. Then, she straightened her back, forcing herself to appear put-together.

"Nobody is going to be up this early."

Narita pressed her lips together grimly. She didn't want to be pitied, but the driver had a point. "Simply Delish," she said.

The driver rolled his eyes. "All the kids go there."

Narita agreed, but nobody would be there this early. Plus, she and Gina had agreed to meet there before school.

"All right," he said, giving a half-hearted shrug.

Narita appreciated the mild interest in her. She didn't want the man to pry, but she didn't want to be completely ignored either. She studied the top half of the driver's face in the rearview mirror, mapping the creases in his forehead and the laugh lines around his eyes. He had as many wrinkles as her mother, but they were in different places, and they sent different messages.

Instead of making her feel sicker, the bus's steady rocking alleviated her pain. Narita raised her nose to the open window and inhale some of the spearmint air that flowed past. She watched the lazy shops slowly open, watched the birds flutter away, watched Japan wake up from hibernation.

"Here we are," the driver said, stopped in front of a trendy café. Narita saw a couple of students milling about inside, but not enough to trigger her anxiety.

_Good,_ she thought. The smell of freshly baked goods minus the noise of dozens upon dozens of students would do her some good.

"Thank you," she said, tugging her backpack off of the bus after her.

"No problem."

Narita headed into the café as the bus pulled into the main street. She entered to the jingle of some bells and took a seat at the counter. Although being this close to the attendants without buying anything often made her uncomfortable, she liked to smell the cookies and muffins as they were set out, even though she couldn't eat any. To avoid having to make conversation, she pulled out a book on the Teigin bank robbery—some pleasure reading—and wrappedd her uniform around her. As she fell into the case of Sadamichi Hirasawa, more students began to file into the small café.

"I am _so_ ready for school to end," a girl said to her friend.

Narita's ears pricked at the mention of the word "school." The skin on her neck rose as well.

"Has your boyfriend texted you yet?"

"No, I think I'm going to break up with him."

"But his family is loaded."

"Yeah, but he's an idiot. And I hear his older brother is gonna get most of the inheritance anyways so…"

"Whatever. How much homework do you think we're gonna get?"

"Probably a ton. I refuse to sleep later than twelve."

The muscle under Narita's eyes began to twitch at the thought of what was to come. She clamped down on the black characters in her book, reading one, two, three pages until coming to the end of a chapter, but any retention of information was a lost cause. The little bit of peace she'd regained during the bus ride had dissipated amidst the hungry students filing into the café.

A blue-eyed boy took a seat beside her, and soon another boy boxed her in from the other side. Both were wearing the Nagoya Sei uniform, but she only recognized the second one. He'd been in her class last year, had scored higher than her on a test once and rubbed it in her face.

"Your most bitter, please," said the boy Narita didn't know in a lazy drawl. His voice, his nonchalance, made Narita want to slam her fist against something.

She immersed herself in her book of empty words written in a language she could no longer comprehend. He stomach churned and her feet twitched uncontrollably against the counter, running and running and playing out the nightmare from last night. But Narita kept her body still, forcing herself to _understand_ the words before her eyes.

The boy's tea came.

Narita could smell the fowl odor from where she sat and her stomach protested. Something didn't feel right. She buried her face in her hands to ward away the smell and the noise. Darkness enveloped her, but not silence. She could feel the hair on her neck prickle as though someone was raking keen eyes over her form. She shivered.

Suddenly, Narita _knew_.

She jumped up from her seat, but it was too late. She keeled over and her meager breakfast came rushing out.

The scent of saltines and stomach acid filled the air, but it still smelled better than the blue-eyed boy's tea.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Niou Masaharu caught a strand of his hair between his index and middle finger and inspected it. The dye he'd used to color it black was staying on better than expected. He picked up his phone and stared blankly at the dark screen, contemplating what he wanted to do with it. Deciding, he pressed on the button at the top and the time appeared with a background of the Milky Way.

_6:30_

Insomnia was a bitch.

The sun peeked out from his shuttered window. In the half darkness, Niou's room looked like a study in simplicity. His table sat in the corner of the room with nothing on top of it and nothing in the drawers. His chair had been scooted out sometime in the middle of the night and now faced toward him invitingly. Back in his old house, Niou had populated his room with stray parts of origami creatures and sticky notes, each one containing a little fragment of the thoughts that kept him up at night. Every morning, his mother would open his door and find an absolute mess. Now he had nothing to keep him occupied, nothing to make the long hours of the night pass faster.

This was usually the time Niou texted Yagyuu, asking him if he was willing to wear a skirt for a tennis con or shave his head and get a spray tan. The answer was usually no, and Niou would have spent the next thirty minutes coming up with reasons Yagyuu should have agreed in his head. Somehow, that didn't seem right now.

Niou sighed and rolled over in his bed. He pressed a hand to his stomach, willing it to begin growling. At least then he would have a reason to drag himself out of bed. On his bedside table, hiss phone lit up with a text from his mom. _First day of school,_ she'd written, with five smiley faces and six winky faces. _Hope you're ready._

Niou sneered at the screen and contemplated texting something mean and worthy of such a crime as emoticon abuse. But she would just reply with some angry faces and _how dare you say that to your mother?_ And that was too much of a fuss for six-thirty in the morning.

_Yep,_ he wrote, then set his phone back on the table.

His hand flitted over a triangular pyramid composed of four tennis balls—three for the base and one on top—and plucked one out from the bottom, causing the entire structure to crumble. The one in his hand was worn and frayed on every side from being chucked at a ceiling all night long. The activity had lost all appeal to him now that the sun was up and mocking, not that it had been very appealing to Niou last night.

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and began to throw on his school uniform. He grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys from his bedside table and swung his schoolbag over his shoulder, walking out of his tiny apartment with barely a glance in the mirror. He didn't need his reflection to tell him that he wasn't wearing Rikkai Dai's prestigious uniform anymore.

Niou jogged down the steps of the apartment building, the dull echo of his footsteps bouncing back and forth in the cramped space. He emerged into the cool, winter air and inhaled, letting his lungs fill with the scent of _cold_. Leaving powdery indents of snowflakes where he walked, his black shoes made deep footprints snow. The Toukai Region was unfamiliar to Niou, but the streets snaking through the Aichi Prefecture where he lived promised mystery and excitement. Especially where Niou's apartment sat downtown, the area was populated with drunken writers and ex-convicts, all looking for a new start. Niou fit in perfectly here.

He headed toward a small café a few blocks down the street from where he lived. He knew that he was getting farther and farther away from his new school, but the thought didn't strike his as particularly important. Niou could see Nagoya Sei from the roof of his apartment building. The school, however impressive for a public school, didn't pique his interest as much as the street through which he had to travel to arrive at the café.

Niou, who had been counting the blocks, turned right at an alleyway. If his memory served him right, the café would be to his right when he emerged on the other side. Shadows slinked behind him as he walked past dumpsters and beggars and old food. Once, Niou thought he heard the sound of a knife, but when he turned, there was nothing. Cats slinked in and out of the shadows, following him with their keen, bright eyes, their sinewy forms casting snake-like shadows on the walls. Finally, Niou emerged on the other side. Slightly disappointed at the uneventful trip, he pushed open the door of the café to the pure chime of a bell and strode inside.

The café looked and smelled like a bakery from the inside. Oven-made goodies lay behind transparent windows, coated with some sugary mixing or another. Niou, frankly, had always preferred bitter to sweet.

"Tea, please," he said to the girl at the counter.

"What kind?"

Niou considered the menu for a moment. Then, the told the girl, "Your most bitter."

"That would be the ku ding," a voice said behind him.

Niou turned around and inspected the interrupter. He looked relatively young, probably in his early-twenties, but he would have passed as a high school student if he threw on a uniform and shaved. His clothes were simple and looked a lot more comfortable than what Niou was wearing. The lower half of his face sported a prickly beard and he smelled like he hadn't showered for days. Slung across his back was an Adidas backpack that would have been nice if it hadn't been for the elements and, probably, general carelessness on the stranger's part.

"I'll have that," Niou said without looking at the girl. He sat down at the counter and patted the seat beside him.

"And I'll have a bagel with cream cheese," said the man. He sat down, pulled out a small, yellow notepad from his coat pocket, and jotted down a few notes in it. "Are you Japanese?" he asked.

"If not, my parents are in for a pretty big surprise," Niou remarked.

"But the blue eyes."

"Are contacts."

"I see," the man said and continued writing stuff down.

The man's bagel and cheese came first, and he set down his notepad to devour the food. Niou's eyes quickly skimmed the first page. He read, _Day 22. Blue eyes but Japanese, lanky, sarcastic, "unaffected youth."_ It was a somewhat over-simplified description of himself, he realized. The thought of a stranger analyzing Niou irked him in a way he didn't care for.

"You're a writer," Niou stated flatly. His tea came and he raised it to his nose for a sniff. His nose wrinkled at the pungent smell.

"Correct you are, my friend." The man leaned closer to him and gestured at the tea. "Can I?"

"Why are you taking notes on me?" Niou set down the teacup with a brief nod.

"I take notes on everything. For example, right now I am jotting down 'ku ding tea is good for dieting and nothing else.'"

Niou said nothing and sipped some of the tea. His lips pressed together as the taste permeated his taste buds. _At least the smell gave you warning,_ he thought.

"What's that taste like?"

"Taste is an abstract term."

The man paused, then wrote something down on his notepad. Out of the corner of his eyes, Niou watched him, trying to piece together this anomaly of a man. His overall appearance suggested poor, but the way he talked, his Adidas backpack, suggested that he had money.

Finishing his bagel, the man slapped his hands together over his plate a few times and dropped some coins on the counter. Then, he hitched up his backpack, said "I'll see you around," and began to weave through the throng of students. As he reached the front door, he turned around and waved at Niou.

After the man left, Niou sipped his tea and observed the rest of the café. The seat to his right was occupied by a girl and her friend, both wearing uniforms too tight with their hair dyed every color of the gothic rainbow. To his left sat a sullen-looking girl that also went to Nagoya Seitoku. He caught her eyes flitting away from him and felt annoyed that he'd been observed without him noticing. As he watched, the girl buried her face in her palms. Niou pondered the writer with one part of his brain, but the other part scanned her over.

She had a wilted look about her. Ebony hair hung to her elbows in limp waves, reminiscent of someone who'd forgotten or just didn't care about herself; her uniform still had a crease where it'd been folded, suggesting she hadn't tried it on before today.

Niou picked up his tea and held it to his lips, blowing away some of the steam. Without a warning, the girl jumped up from her seat and threw up.

Suddenly, the writer wasn't on Niou's mind anymore.

* * *

><p>AN: So, I've decided. I am changing the title to _Shattered Mirrors. _I'm going to change it when I post chapter three.

As always, hope you enjoyed the chapter. Tell me what you guys thought.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Narita's head spun. She was staring at a pair of black shoes and a pile of puke. Around her, people were jumping back in disgust. The black shoes shifted away from her and the owner of them stood up, but he didn't back away. Narita's cheeks burned like she had a fever, and suddenly all she wanted to do was lie down.

At least now she didn't want to throw up anymore.

She felt cool hands hold her hair back and rub her back. She stiffened and tried to straighten, bumping into the table. Pain shot down her spine. Then, Gina's soothing voice said, "Shh…Narita."

Narita calmed down. She sat up, dodging the table this time, and looked around. All around, people were gathering their bags and leaving the café with wrinkled noses and sneers marring their faces. A boy in a red uniform rushed over with a mop and began to clean up the avocado-y, salty mess: Narita's meager breakfast. The owner of the black shoes—a handsome boy with cobalt eyes—shouldered his backpack and walked out of the café. The even stride and relaxed sway of his hips did nothing to suggest that he was bothered by a girl throwing up so close to him.

"I nearly made it four years," Narita murmured, looking down at her knotted hands. Shame burned on her cheeks now, not humiliation. She would apologize to the boy later, but the rest of the school would know her as the girl who threw up in public. Just another burden she would have to bear until senior year was over.

"God," Gina said, wringing her hands in the air, "Narita, why do you do this to yourself?"

"Do what?" Narita managed, smiling wryly.

"You can freshen up in the bathroom if you want," the employee said to both of them.

Narita nodded and she and Gina got up.

"You know what I mean," Gina said. She pulled out her phone, fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard. "I'm texting Miu. She can bring her entire set of beauty products."

"I threw up, Gina, I didn't get hit by a bus." Narita closed the door to the bathroom behind them. Then, she leaned back against it and breathed out, fighting the urge to slide to the ground.

Gina looked up from her phone just long enough to flash Narita a radiant smile. Narita couldn't help but notice enviously that the only bag Gina had was a designer one resting near her hip. "We have to make you extra beautiful so everyone will forget about what you did today."

Narita looked at her watch. Including the time it would take her and Gina to get to school, her friends did _not_ have enough time to cover up an entire train wreck. She splashed her face with cool water and spat out the rest of her throw up. Without concealer and with drippy mascara, Narita looked like she'd just escaped from a nuthouse. But she felt like she was still trapped inside one as she looked into her eyes.

With a quick _snap_, Gina flipped down her phone and dropped it inside her bag. "Did you eat yet?" she asked. Narita opened mouth, but then she added, "_Besides_ avocado and saltines."

Silence.

She sighed. "That's what I thought. Stay put. I'm gonna go get you some nourishment." With that, she turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Narita patted her face with a cheap, papery towel. All of a sudden, her entire body seemed to vibrate as a wave of fear pulled her under. She fell onto the floor of the bathroom—the dirty, germ-infested floor—and buried her face in her hands. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she let a few drip. Then, she forced them back and pulled herself together with a few quick gulps.

_Move. Don't think._

She turned on the faucet.

_Move._

She splashed her face.

_Don't think._

She patted her face dry.

_Don't think._

She turned without looking at her reflection and strode out of the bathroom. As she made her way to the front of the store, she drew her shoulders back and pulled her chin up. If putting yourself back together after you'd fallen apart was considered an Olympic sport, Narita would win the gold medal every year. She had so many hot-glued pieces of her façade there wasn't a part of her that wasn't chipped or broken.

Gina was standing at the front counter, charming her way to a buy-one-get-the-next-two-free deal with the manager and the clerk. Narita stood beside her as she twined her long, blond hair around one finger and smiled at both men. "Your wife, and _your_ girlfriend, are both very lucky," she said.

The manager blushed, scratching the back of his head. "I don't have a wife." Narita figured this was his way of saying "I'm available."

"Neither do I," said the clerk.

"Well then," Gina said, and left it at that. A bag with three bagels inside—plain, everything, and jalapeno—was set in front of her, quickly plucked up by her slender fingers. As Gina hooked her arm through Narita's and steered her out of the store, she turned back and waved at both men.

"Have a nice day, ladies," the manager said.

"Thank you," Narita called back, feeling wallflower-ish next to Gina.

The chilly, January air bit into their bones as Narita and Gina got outside. Both girls said nothing at first, taking two bagels from the bag and leaving one for Miu. Then, Gina broke the silence.

"Why do you do this, Narita?" This was voiced softly with a frigid undercurrent. Narita looked to the side at her friend's beautiful profile. Gina's pink lips were pressed white, keeping something in or perhaps just thoughtful, and her eyebrows were pulled to the focal point above her nose.

Narita didn't have an answer. To say that it was the only way to become successful would be wrong and offensive to the way Gina lived—her motto was "Why worry about today when you can be bungee jumping from the Eiffel Tower?" But in Narita's mind, that was the only answer that would reflect how she truly felt. How could she express that, in her mind, the only way her life would turn out like she wanted it to was if she pushed herself now?

"Nurture, perhaps," Narita said softly.

"Bullshit." Gina stared at her phone. She could probably cut someone with her glare if she wanted to, but right now it was directed at Miu's worried texts so as not to injure any pedestrians. "Your parents worry too."

"They never told me that," Narita said. In her head, she thought, _Traitors._

"Well, they do. You're speeding down a highway and you're gonna run yourself off a cliff if you don't slow down."

"But I would slow down if I saw the cliff. Or at least I would turn away from it. Anyways, what kind of highway ends in a cliff?"

"Fine. Your going down a tunnel."

"So I'm dead?"

"No! I mean, yes! Basically! That's my point, Narita. You're killing yourself!" Gina finally turned to her. Narita readied herself for daggers, but all she saw was genuine worry in her friend's eyes.

The fight drained out of her. A hot-glued piece of Narita fell down, but she would pick it up later. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I have to."

Gina softened, too. She began walking again at an easy pace. "No, you don't. I just wish you would realize that."

They walked until the school came within sight. Students were already milling onto the lawn: first-years pumped about the thought of school ending, second-years sneering at the underclassmen and hiding excitement, and third-year students just bored with it all and eager to move on to the next phase of her lives. Narita braced herself for the looks and whispers. She felt Gina take her hand and squeeze it hard.

"Eyes up, shoulders back, kill anyone who looks at you weirdly."

Narita nodded. As they walked across campus, she imagined a little prick on her skin for every judgmental gaze aimed at her. Then she imagined deflecting them with armor. She felt hyperaware of the brutal silence of the masses—but she also hoped that she could pull this off, live her humiliation down. That the spectacle from this morning would fade into history.

Then, she saw the blue-eyed boy from the café and something caught on her sleeve, hitched in her chest. He watched her from beneath a large cherry blossom tree. The disinterest in his posture was apparent, but in his eyes were a question. _What are you going to do?_

Narita's left foot hooked her right from behind, and she stumbled.

With that, someone snickered. Then someone else. And another person. Narita could literally hear the story of this morning spreading through the crowds like a deadly epidemic.

She felt Miu come beside her and take her other hand, dragging her and Gina through the throng of bodies. Narita twisted her head behind her to see the blue-eyed boy again, but he was gone, and something itched inside of her.

"I got here as fast as possible," Miu was saying as they walked into the nearly empty building.

"You didn't have to do that," Narita said.

"What were you looking at?" Gina asked as she gave up on trying to follow Narita's gaze.

"Nothing."

They ushered Narita into the bathroom where Miu dropped her large duffel bag onto the floor—a loud _clunk_ from various objects falling together—and pulled out a hair straightener from the top of the pile. She plugged it into a wall outlet and handed Gina some heat protectant, which she massaged into Narita's hair.

"Please, don't make such a fuss," Narita said.

"You _threw up_ this morning," Miu said. "A fuss shall be made."

"Hold still," Gina instructed.

Narita silenced herself as her friends bustled around her. She'd originally planned on apologizing to the blue-eyed boy for throwing up near him at the café, but now something was holding her back. _Why should I have to apologize to just him? It's not like I got anything _on _him_, she thought, amazing herself. It was like a little bit of Gina's breezy confidence had rubbed off on her. Or maybe, the constant movement and care from her friends was helping her feel better.

Narita watched the reflections of the three of them in the mirror, a constant flurry of movement from Gina and Miu centered around _her_. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice catching on "you" as her throat closed up.

Neither of them looked up. This only made Narita feel even more grateful for them.

"Close your eyes," Miu instructed, brandishing some wand at her as an explanation.

Narita fluttered her eyelids shut, some of the stress from his morning fading away. She let her friends work on her for the entire time up until school started. Gina and Miu talked about gossip and current events and argued about gay marriage and abortion with Narita chiming in with her own opinions later in the conversation. _How long has it been since I've talked like this?_ she wondered.

She opened her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. The Narita that looked back had no bags to speak of, glossy lips, wispy black hair, and dark eyes. She didn't look at all like the girl from this morning or the girl trying to keep herself together after falling apart.

_No wonder Gina likes to live like this, separated from all the stress of colleges and getting a degree_, Narita thought. Her eyebrows furrowed, reflecting her surprise back at her. Then, she gave a subtle shake of the head to mirror-Narita and closed her eyes again, shutting her out. _No, you already know your path,_ she thought firmly. And that was the last of it.

But in the back of her mind, a little part of her asked, _Is that the only path?_

Traitorous thoughts.

* * *

><p>AN: Ehhhhhhhhhhhhh

I'm back...for a while...idk, I've just really missed writing. It's become a way to let off steam and relax. So I apologize if the quality isn't great or if the plot lines get tangled. I'm just...not caring anymore. Yeah...sorry not sorry.

Thanks for reading. Type some words about it and click some buttons, yeah?


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

Falling. Wind rushing by his face. There was something both intoxicating and frightening about being so close to death. His stomach flew to his throat, and he opened his mouth. Out came butterflies, then snakes, then roaches, falling with him, flying with him.

His eyes focused on the ground, closer and closer but never touching. How long would he fall? There was nothing below him, just a vast, empty darkness, yet he could anticipate hitting the ground. He could feel its proximity, a lingering stillness with a consciousness of its own.

Suddenly, he tipped forward and instead of falling on his stomach, he was shooting forward head-first. Fear shot through him. He opened his mouth to scream as the ground came into sight and he knew exactly what was next: the water, rising up with a great hand determined to drag him under.

He closed his eyes as the wind tore his screams away.

Niou woke up.

_12:00 AM_

Exactly midnight.

It was weird how, right now, there were probably hundreds of other people waking up at the exact same time, and yet he could still feel like the only person truly awake. He sat up and hunched over in the darkness, feeling as though an abnormal growth would emerge from the curve of his spine, a true representation of himself. In his mind, it would ooze out like ink and shadow, detaching from his body, unnoticed, and consuming him.

He could hear wind blowing ceaselessly outside. It whistled and howled through buildings, probably blowing up enough powdery snow to give the appearance of a snowstorm. How had he been able to sleep in this noise? The insistent creaking of thousands of towers being challenged in their solidarity by air. Niou flopped back on his bed and mulled over the idea of going outside. After a moment, he sat up again, pulled on a pair of heavy pants and a jacket and a knit hat, and walked outside.

As he got to the mouth of his apartment building, the keen whistle of wind as it blew past the opening intensified, like when you blew air over the top of a water bottle. Niou clutched his jacket to himself and pulled his hat way over his ears and stepped into the cold.

At the same time as the wind hit him, Niou felt a wave of annoyance building up inside of him. He set off in an easterly direction that took him closer downtown, where lights would be turned off and the streets would be empty. His strides came in rushed and exasperated intervals, making dramatic heel-toe indentations in the snow. His thoughts came in flurries as unorganized as snowflakes—_school teacher_ _boy barf girl Placebo_—mere ideas of what to think about, yet none interesting enough for him to occupy his mind with. _This, _he thought, _is boredom at its greatest_.

Not that school had interested him particularly in the first place. It wasn't that Niou didn't comprehend the value of it; he just didn't think it applied to him as much as it did to others. He didn't want a predictable life in the office, working towards deadlines and faxing papers. He didn't want to "settle down" and reproduce—he'd seen his parents, and happy couple that they were, they probably could have been happier. The truth was, Niou didn't know _what_ he wanted to do. He just knew that he wanted to be more than just stock, a mannequin fresh off the shelf of life ("wife and child included if you call within the next 24 hours").

He walked down the street for about an hour until he came to a rural area off the side of a highway. The lights were on inside and a large sign that said _Open 24 Hours_ pointed to the flat, little building.

Niou pushed the door open, and thankfully there was no annoying bell that announced his arrival. Inside, the smell of grease and coffee stained his nostrils. He heard clacking from the side and turned to see Writer-Man typing manically on a laptop. Beside him, a cup of tea cooled on the table. What was really interesting, though, was the redness of his face and the intensity in his eyes. They glowed with his computer screen's reflection.

Niou walked over to his booth and sat down. A waitress with a dead look in her eyes walked over to him, ready to take his order, but Niou hadn't brought any money, so he shook his head and waved her off. Writer-Man still hadn't looked up from his laptop, which interested and annoyed Niou. He wondered what he was writing. Would it be a character sketch on a dark-hair, blue-eyed boy the main character had met in a café? Or had he dismissed Niou as a character in his story and moved on?

Niou sniffed the air and his nose wrinkled without his permission._ Kuding,_ he realized, looking at the tea. He wasn't sure how he felt about that either.

A loud _clack_ ended whatever sentence Writer-Man had been working on. He looked up from his laptop with a face that shouted _alive_. "You are my inspiration tonight," he told Niou.

"I think we're moving too quickly," Niou said slowly. "You haven't even met my parents." He'd perfected the art of monotonous sarcasm. Talk without emotion and people tended to hear the worst. Probably because humans were emotional beings, too consumed with the rollercoaster of living to think about the jarring end.

"In my book, you're an orphan."

"You don't even know my name."

"A person is more than a name."

"You have to know said person to say that."

"So tell me why you're here."

Niou's keen gaze flicked to Writer-Man's hands as he took a sip of tea. A smirk played on his lips.

"Your eyes are blue," Writer-Man remarked before he could say anything. "But I don't think you're wearing contacts. What kind of person puts on colored contacts when he doesn't anticipate meeting anyone?"

Niou decided he probably liked Writer-Man. His eyes flicked to a tag on his Adidas backpack. _Saito_ was all Niou could read. He looked back at _Saito_, who had not stopped looking at Niou like a scientist would a specimen in a petri dish. As much as Niou hated to be studied, he liked people with sharp minds and sharp eyes, people who thought more than they talked or fast enough that they could do it _before_ they talked. The world, in his opinion, was in desperate need of people like that. Like Saito. Like him.

"What's your name?" Saito asked.

"Niou Masaharu," Niou said.

Without a word, Saito typed something on his keyboard. For a very brief moment, one of his eyebrows tipped upward. Then, the show of emotion was gone, and his expression had returned to an amiable grin. He tipped down his computer to fifteen degrees, then leaned over the counter and held out his hand.

"My name is Saito Hikaru."

Niou cocked an eyebrow at the writer's slender fingers, but his hands remained loosely hanging off his side of the table. Eventually, Saito withdrew his hand, not the least bit affected, and jotted something down on his notepad. He was, Niou noted, using a different hand than this morning. In fact, both of his middle fingers had lumps on them, though the right one was slightly smaller.

"I see. So I have to prove myself before I earn your respect," Saito murmured.

Niou said, "Don't base you character on me."

Saito paused abruptly, and a large dot of ink began to bleed out on the yellow paper where his pen had stopped. Then, he set his pen down and carefully stacked his hands in a steeple between them. "Should I have asked permission first? Will you please let me write about you?"

Niou did not feel inclined to answer.

Saito sighed, letting the air go out of him like a balloon. He fingered the edge of a page of his notepad hesitantly, then, with another sighing sound, he ripped it off and crumpled the paper in his hands. The sound of him mashing paper together was probably the loudest sound in the café so far. With a bare flick of his wrist, Saito Hikaru threw the paper into a trashcan, creating a perfect arc in the air. He turned to Niou afterward with a nonchalant grin on his face, held out his hand, and said again, "I'm Saito Hikaru. Let's be friends."

Niou didn't move, but in his mind, he was calculating. A while passed, then Saito shrugged then withdrew his hand. He went over his laptop, pressing a few buttons very loudly, and downed the last of his kuding tea. Niou watched as his nose wrinkled in disgust. He gathered up his laptop and shoved it into his Adidas backpack and shouldered it. "I'll see you later, Niou-san."

Niou wondered at the chances of this. Unlikely. But Saito made it sound like a promise.

Niou got up once the writer had left and retrieved his yellow crumple from the trashcan. He sat back down, smoothing it out on the table, and read the notes he'd taken.

_Day 22. _

_Blue eyes but Japanese, lanky, sarcastic, "unaffected youth." Name: Niou Masaharu. Sharp._

_Character: Orphan [maybe]. Sad. Blue contacts with black hair.__ Doesn't (want to) give a damn __Love sick romantic (lol)_

There was more, but that was all Niou wanted to read at the moment. Despite himself, he folded the sheet of paper into a compact rectangle and nestled it in the palm of his hand. Then he got up and left the café.

Outside, it had stopped snowing, but somehow Niou felt even colder.


	6. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

_Dear __Diary__ Journal_

_ Day 2 in my living hell…_

That was probably how Narita's journal entry would start if she saw the point in keeping one. But she didn't, so she usually resorted to writing out highly romanticized monologues in her mind. Cupping her cheek in her palm, she leaned to the side and let her hair swing down in wings. Her teachers didn't like it when she did homework in class, and since she sat at the very front, there was no chance of her sneaking around the rule.

Narita looked behind her. Classes were assigned by rank and so were seats. Miu sat a place behind her and Gina sat a little bit further down that row. Narita watched enviously as Gina and her seatmate exchanged hurried words about homework from a previous class. Even Miu, directly behind Narita, was using her as a shield from the teacher's sharp eyes. Attentiveness went down exponentially the further back one went. At the very back, the worst of the best half-assed their homework enough to remain in the class but also keep their seat in anonymity.

Narita's head snapped around as she heard a dull tap on the chalkboard. Kuroku-sensei continued to tap on the chalkboard with his eraser, blowing up plumes of white dust. He surveyed the classroom, not that it would do much good. He was so near-sighted he wouldn't have been able to tell you how many fingers a student in the second row was holding up, much less make out where twenty pairs of eyes were looking at that moment. He stood to the side of the board. At six-five, he made the classroom and students look like a scene out of _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves._

He said, "All right, class. Take out your notebooks, and do the problems on the board. Anything not done will be your homework for tonight."

Narita heard a small groan from Miu. Narita began to work the problems, reaching a roadblock about halfway through the first problem. "Why do you do this to us, Kuroku?" Miu whispered behind her. Narita narrowed her eyes and bent forward to examine her work, which only helped her block out Miu and did nothing for her actually solving the problem. She glanced up at the clock, noting the five minutes she had before more homework was added to her ledger.

Hopeless.

Math had never been her strongest subject, although that had never been a problem before. Her usual teachers stuck uncreatively to the book enough that every practice problem they assigned was basically a carbon copy of a book problem. No abstract thinking needed. But Kuroku-sensei, who'd been a national-level mathlete in his high school and collegiate days, had made Narita's life decidedly more difficult with his tricky word problems.

Narita sighed, giving up, and took a picture of the problems on the board to mull over later. She began to get out her stuff for her next class as the bell rang. A pair of shoes walked past her and she heard Kuroku say, surprised but pleased, "Well done, Niou-kun." Narita's head snapped up just in time to see the blue-eyed boy walk past her, and she couldn't help but follow him with her eyes to the very back of the class and watch him plop down in his seat by the window, throwing his legs effortlessly on his desk. He scanned the class, catching her gaze, and raised an eyebrow at her. She turned away, remembering her decision not to apologize for throwing up on his shoes.

Around her, the class had erupted into chatter. Miu tapped Narita on the shoulder and said, "Did you get anything for the first problem?"

Narita shook her head, her gaze going past Miu and to the blue-eyed boy. She thought about how quickly he'd finished Kuroku's practice problems, and a twinge of jealousy caused her to wince. Jealous? Of a stranger because he was better at math than she was? She sighed, because ridiculous as the notion was, it wasn't entirely outside of her nature to feel this way.

A few snaps in front of her face drew her attention back to Miu. "Hello. Earth to Narita. I repeat, Earth to Narita. Come in, Narita, do you copy? _Or are you too busy staring at the cute guy you in the back?_" This last statement Miu whispered, leaning in close with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The boy in the back stood up and sauntered forward. Narita followed him with her eyes again, but didn't turn around when he walked past her. After he'd left the class, Miu nudged Narita and said smugly, "You totally were."

Narita didn't bother to deny it or, worse, to explain why. It was better for Miu to think that she had a crush on him than for her to know that the real reason was because Narita was jealous of his math abilities. No matter how close she and her friends were, there were just some things you kept to yourself.

* * *

><p>Pulsing, beating, thrumming.<p>

Niou walked into the bar and slid into one of the chairs. The television played some music video in a corner. He focused on the bass in the background and how it seemed to coax him into mindlessness, asking him to join the rest of the pack. Asking him to belong to a group, a homogenized, _boring_ mob. Niou could play the game all he wanted, could pretend the liquid through his veins consisted of ninety percent alcohol, but to be absolutely honest, he was always too sober.

Hah. That was probably a metaphor for his life. Being the sharpest in the room wasn't unfamiliar, it was expected.

A bartender came over and Niou handed him a fake ID. Tonight, he wasn't Niou Masaharu, he was a dark-haired shadow at the peripheral of someone's vision. The bartender flicked his card back at him and Niou asked for a beer. He wasn't a fan of losing control—again, always too sober.

As he waited for his drink to come to him, Niou looked around the bar. It was one of those nights where enough people were around to make the place seem cozy but not enough to make it seem loud. The chatter seemed to become one with the atmosphere. Background noise.

What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't help but wonder. The bar was no different than the one he'd left in Kanagawa. And Nagoya Sei could be described as a second-rate Rikkai, a school without personality. Niou hadn't been surprised by this; he'd already expected boredom and disinterest. So why hadn't he said a word when he moved away?

Life at Rikkai, even if it was old, had encompassed his friends (or at least the closest thing to friendship that he could get). There was Hiroshi, trapped inside his own skin; Kirihara, the devil in rehab; Yanagi, perhaps the only boy Niou had ever met with a mind as sharp as Niou's own; and the rest of his team had been interesting as well. Yukimura, Marui, Sanada, Jackal—each uniquely molded by their pasts.

If Niou had stayed at Rikkai, he'd still be analyzing them. They'd all grown so much since he first met them, whereas Niou was trapped in time. If his teammates could see him now, what would they say? _You shouldn't drink before a game_? That was Sanada. _I wanna try!_ Kirihara. Yanagi would write something in his notebook, barely legible as all geniuses wrote.

Niou wondered how much the data master had collected on him. To Yanagi, Niou was an anomaly. He wanted to break Niou into bits and pieces to analyze, just like what Niou did to the rest of the world. Yanagi's notebook would contain the most anyone had ever known about Niou. How much would he find? What would he find? Niou had a feeling, if he read the Niou Masaharu Yanagi had pieced together, he'd be struck by how amazingly uninteresting the boy in the book was. How predictably unpredictable he was.

He lifted the mug to his lips and chuckled into the glass. Yanagi and the rest of the world had him all wrong. He wasn't some complex creature.

He was just lost.

* * *

><p>Most days when Narita woke up, she was just tired. Tired of the day to come and tired of the day before. This morning, she could hear the birds chirping outside her window and the city sounds beneath her. She took a breath through her nose, gathering up her will and strength and began to get ready.<p>

Once, walking back from school, Gina had asked Narita if she was happy. "Yes," she said, without thinking. Somehow, it didn't seem right to say she was unhappy. After all, her parents loved each other in the way old people did, her siblings fought with each other like all little kids should, and every want and need Narita had ever had could be fulfilled with a logical argument. She had absolutely no reason to feel doubt, but she did.

"Are you sure?" Gina asked.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

And because Gina knew Narita better than Narita knew herself, she said exactly the thing that would crumble all of Narita's surety. "I don't care if you _should_ feel happy. I want to know if you _do._"

A pause. _No, not really_. Buy why? It didn't make sense. Narita nodded her head and smiled. "Yes, of course."

"Fine. I believe you."

Narita shook her head, coming out of her stupor. She had no reason to be unhappy, but she was. But that didn't matter. Looking into her reflection in the mirror, she met her tired eyes and thought, _I _will_ be happy. When I grow up. When I'm done with everything_.

The rest of it was a matter of biding her time.

With this thought playing like a broken record in her mind, Narita set off to school. _Day 3 of my living hell,_ she thought, arriving in front of Nagoya Sei's meticulously cut front lawn. Neither of her friends had walked with her to school today. Both Gina and Miu were probably just leaving the café, but Narita had resolved never to return to the place after the Incident a few days before.

"Are you going to stand there gaping like a fish?" a voice said from behind her.

Narita turned around, a flash of annoyance going through her until she realized it was the blue-eyed boy from the café. The one who was better at math than her. And she closed her mouth (which, admittedly, _had_ been half open). He raised an eyebrow. She opened her mouth again, an apology half formed in her mind, until she remembered that she _would not_ apologize to him.

Even if it was the right thing.

This was a test. She had to prove to herself that she wasn't some boneless earthworm, ready to be stepped on by the next leather shoe.

"Maybe I was," she said. "Were you not expecting me to answer? Well, you did ask."

"Great. Well, I have all day to stand here. Are you so determined to make a point that you'd risk being late to class?" Niou—Narita searched for a first name and drew up a blank—stepped a foot closer. They weren't that close, but the flood of students pressing in seemed to create a little pocket for the two of them, making the space seem more intimate than it actually was.

"I have about five minutes," Narita said. She thought about planting her hands on her hips, but that seemed too movie-heroine for her taste, so she merely crossed her arms and slid her hip to one side. She noticed Niou was standing the same way, and quickly rearranged herself.

Niou's mouth curved into a sickle or a crescent moon. Something sharp, cold, cutting. He moved forward, and Narita leaned back. She blinked at the sudden movement, and felt his breath by her ears, whispering, "Or did you just want to stare at me some more?" And then he'd brushed past her and she'd opened her eyes.

It was then that Narita realized she'd been holding her breath. _Damn it_, she thought. She must have started looking like a tomato. She whirled around, patting down her hair and taking a few calming breaths. She felt like she'd just escaped a confrontation with a wolf. Niou had put her off balance, had shaken her thought.

_What was I thinking about again?_ she wondered.

_Oh yeah, biding my time_.

She sighed and reluctantly fell into step with the flood of students pouring in. She repeated her mantra for the day, but some part of her stayed behind. Some part of her lingered between the entrance gates of Nagoya Sei, holding its breath and staring into blue, blue eyes.


End file.
